


Memories

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amelia should never have happened, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Sam, Dean's back from Purgatory, Feels, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sam pines for Dean, Slow Burn, Top!Sam, Wincest - Freeform, Wincest Feels, bottom!Dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Dean is back from Purgatory. There is no picking back up where they left off, not when Sam has a whole new life with a whole new woman and Dean has a vampire best friend. They may never find their way back to each other, but Sam still wants to try.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have always hated the Amelia story line, so I let the boys work through it a little differently than they did on the show. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated.

Sometimes, all Sam has to do is look at Dean, and he is a little kid again. 

He watches Dean toss his duffel bag on the mostly clean bed of another cheap motel, and tries to choose which memory he wants to fall into tonight. There are a million that start this very same way- the two of them settling into another motel room in another town after John dropped them off, not knowing how long they would be there. Sometimes they were happy about it, full of fun and freedom. Sometimes they were worried, nervous about the danger their father might get himself into. Sometimes they were angry, tired of living in each other’s pockets and dealing with all the growing pains of teenage boys. 

Tonight, Sam picks a happy memory to relive in his mind.  


********

It’s twenty-two years ago, and he’s seven years old, completely unaware of anything other than his big brother. It hasn’t dawned on him yet that their family isn’t normal. He doesn’t think about how everyone else stays in the same town, has their own houses to go to each night. He watches family sitcoms on television and thinks of it as a fantasy, as silly and crazy as Lord of the Rings, which he reads every night before he falls asleep. Those dinners at the dining room table and family dance parties aren’t normal. Normal is the smell of gunpowder that lingers long after John has left. Normal is the rumble of the Impala beneath him, better than any lullaby. Normal is Dean, his big brother, next to him on the bed, like he will be any second now.

The heat is broken in the motel, they think. They haven’t been able to make it do anything but whine angrily before it goes silent again. Neither of them mind too much. It’s only slightly chilly anyway, and it’s not like they aren’t used to being cold. Dean just pulls the covers from his bed, tosses them on Sam’s, and slides in next to him. It’s almost cozy with both of them under double the covers. Sam sighs and wiggles closer, waiting for Dean to press against his back and drape an arm over him, like he always does when they share a bed. 

Under Dean’s arm is the place where Sam feels safest. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“Where’s Dad?”

Sam already knows the answer he’s going to get, but he wants to hear Dean say it anyway, like a familiar nighttime ritual. “He’s workin’. Helpin’ people.”

That’s it. He’s tried asking how he helps people, but Dean never tells him anything else. He just tells Sam about Mom, how she used to sing and make up funny bedtime stories. Sam is lulled to sleep by memories that aren’t his. 

Sam loves waking up all warm, sweaty hair and tangled legs, with Dean snoring softly next to him. He knows Dean will wake up, fix him breakfast, and if Sam isn’t too annoying, Dean will let him pick which cartoons to watch. 

Dean is the coolest big brother anyone ever had. Sam is pretty sure that none of the families he watches on tv have a kid as cool as Dean. 

Sam tells another kid that very thing on a playground Dean takes him to the next day, and Dean grins from the bench where he’s sitting and watching. 

********

Back in the present, Sam watches Dean flop down on the bed next to the duffel bag, body heavy with exhaustion. It’s funny how easy it is to turn into that little boy who worshipped him. But maybe it’s still easy because that’s who Sam still is. 

He knows Dean has been white-knuckling it. Things have been so distant and strange between them since Purgatory.

Maybe they only get so many chances to start over, and they’ve used them all up. Maybe this is the time that everything changes. 

Still, it’s nice to remember being that little boy who had belonged to Dean from the start, even if he didn’t know it.

They don’t talk as they get ready for bed.

And they both lie awake all night, backs turned toward each other from their separate beds.

When it’s probably been long enough for them to pretend they’ve gotten enough sleep, Sam sits up, then heads to the bathroom.

“Don’t use all the hot water.” Dean is still stretched over the blankets, mostly dressed, hand under his pillow where Sam knows it’s curled around his gun. He looks asleep, like there’s no way he could have spoken. But the words are there, hanging between them like a peace offering. Like the first civil thing they’ve said in days. 

Sam feels the word ‘jerk’ on his tongue, right there on the tip, ready to tumble out and beg Dean for forgiveness with its one syllable insult. “Okay,” he says finally, unable to take that kind of chance.

As he stands under the shower, keeping the water as cool as he can stand it without shivering, so there will be plenty of steam when it’s Dean’s turn, he thinks maybe today will be the day that doesn’t end with them feeling like strangers. 

They eat breakfast at the diner next to the motel, Dean closing his eyes as he gets to taste his favorite foods again. Sam opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Then does it again.

He wants to explain about Amelia. He wants to tell Dean that there was a reason, that he didn’t just abandon him. At the time, he knew why he had to let go, why he had to move on, but now all he can see is Dean’s eyelashes fluttering as he eats bacon, full lips covered in grease, and he knows he’s lying to himself. He _did_ abandon Dean. 

So he keeps his mouth shut, forces his food down without tasting it, and waits.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s waiting for. Maybe he wants that same reassurance from Dean. Wants to know that Dean isn’t choosing Benny over him, that nothing happened in Purgatory that can’t be undone, that he didn’t let Benny turn him into one of the monsters they hunt. 

But Dean keeps his mouth shut too.

They’ve both said their goodbyes, Sam reminds himself. Sam will never know if Amelia showed up to the motel. Dean won’t be answering anymore phone calls from Benny. They chose each other. But there’s no comfort in that while Dean still feels gone, even when he’s right there on the other side of the booth.

They leave the diner and take off like everything is normal. Like they ever were or will be again. Dean’s humming along with the radio mindlessly, and Sam is lost in another memory.

********

It’s thirteen years ago, and Sam is irritated.

“Dean, will you shut up?”

Dean only looks at his little brother and sings louder. 

Sam sighs and closes his eyes. Dad had dropped them off at this cabin in Nowhere, Texas then left. Said he’d paid up through the end of next month, which meant that they’re going to be alone for almost six weeks. It’s been just four days and Sam is already itching to leave. 

But he can’t leave. So he just rolls over on the dock, letting the sun soak into his skin, turning it more golden brown than it already is. Stretching a long arm over the side, he dances his fingers in the cool water of the lake. He imagines sliding into that water, sinking down to the bottom where it’s dark and quiet and cooler than in the sticky southern air he’s been trying to breathe for four days. Where he can be alone. Where he can’t hear the tinny music coming from the small battery powered radio Dean saved up for. Where no one can see how wrong he is. 

Eventually, it gets hot enough, and Dean’s singing is off key enough, that he does just that. The water is as cool as he imagined, and he grins under it, twirls his coltish limbs in the water as if being weightless also gives him some kind of grace. 

When he pulls himself back onto the dock a few minutes later, dripping and flushed, Dean eyes him. 

“What?” Sam asks, suddenly self conscious.

“Nothin’. Just. You’re gettin’ some muscles there, Sammy. Nice to know you ain’t gonna stay scrawny forever.”

“It’s Sam. And I’m as tall as you now, Dean. Have been since I turned sixteen.”

“If you say so.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then stretches, loving how Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye. 

That happens more these days. Sam will change clothes or go swimming or point out that his jeans are too short now, and Dean will look at him almost hungrily. The same way he looks at pretty girls. Sam loves it, preens for it, counts how long it’s been since he’s gotten that look and wonders if it’s too soon to ‘casually change shirts’ again just to see it one more time. 

And then he feels guilty. The second he goes into the cabin to cool down and eat a sandwich, he feels sick with it. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why does Dean feel like an addiction, like he can’t get enough? It’s so many levels of wrong. 

“Sorry, Sam.” Dean’s voice is right behind him, breath on the back of his neck as he’s putting two slices of almost-stale bread on a paper plate. “Didn’t mean to piss you off out there. I’ll stay inside if you wanna swim some more.”

Sam’s fingers tremble as he reaches for the bologna he’d pulled out of the fridge. Dean is almost pressed against him now, and Sam feels his dick start to swell like the traitor it is. 

“You didn’t piss me off,” he manages. “Just got hungry.”

“I just forget sometimes.”

Dean sounds uncharacteristically apologetic then, and Sam turns, finds himself looking straight into Dean’s green eyes, faces close enough that they are breathing the same breath.

“Forget what?” Sam winces at how breathy he sounds.

“That I shouldn’t call you Sammy, that I shouldn’t annoy you.”

Sam almost doesn’t believe it when Dean reaches out a hand to catch a waterdrop running down Sam’s chest.

“That you aren’t a little kid anymore.”

Sam knows that look, that fucking flirty look, as well as he knows their own names. He turns around and goes back to making his sandwich before Dean can see how red his face is, how the tent in his soaked shorts has grown.

And then Dean’s hands are there, curling around his waist. And his lips- his full, perfect, pink lips- are pressing a kiss to Sam’s shoulder.

He’s gone before Sam can react, waltzing across the room to drop onto the couch like nothing happened. He flips through static filled television channels while Sam makes his sandwich with trembling hands and an aching cock. 

“Hey, Dean?” he calls, and get a grunt in return. “You can...I guess calling me Sammy is okay.”

Dean doesn’t answer. Sam can still hear him humming, only it doesn’t seem so annoying now.

********

Now, Sam would give anything to go back to that cabin. To those years. It seemed so impossible and scary and wrong. But looking back, he had everything right there in those walls that felt suffocating. He’d had Dean, right there, focused only on him. 

He looks over at Dean, humming without really hearing the song, his mind clearly a world away.

Sam isn’t sure he’s ever going to have Dean again.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam isn’t even sure what he wants to say. I’m sorry? Are we okay? Did you miss me like I missed you? 

“Never mind.”

Dean glances over at him. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Ready to stop for the night?”

“Sure.”

They pull into another nameless motel with a broken light outside their room. Sam watches Dean’s eyes as they dart around, taking in the surroundings, seeing things that Sam doesn’t. Sam’s eyes used to dart around like that, back when he hunted, back when he was practiced at being scared of things that went bump in the night. Now, he’s spent a year with his eyes still and focused, actually closed when he goes to sleep, and nothing has happened. So he’s kind of forgotten what it is he’s supposed to be looking for.

Besides, Dean is now dangerous enough for the both of them. 

Dean turns the light on inside the room and instantly grabs for the bottle of whiskey he bought earlier. Sam says nothing about it, just grabs his small toiletry bag and heads into the small bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Sammy?” 

“Mmm?” he answers, mouth full of toothpaste.

“What did your house look like? With her?” Dean doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard through the open door. 

Sam freezes, minty foam dripping out of one corner of his mouth. He doesn’t know how to answer this question because he doesn’t know why Dean asked. He wants to tell Dean what he wants to hear. Whatever Dean needs to hear. He wants Dean to know that it doesn’t matter anymore. That he’s no longer sure why it mattered at all. 

He spits his toothpaste out and answers. “It was a house.” He tries to nonchalantly shrug with just his voice so that Dean knows that it isn’t important. 

Dean grunts, then goes silent. Sam can hear the swish of the bottle before he starts brushing his teeth again.

Sam brushes them for too long, stalling, trying to figure out what he wants to say when he goes into the next room. All he can come up with is “Why do you want to know?”

Dean looks up at him, eyes still clear and focused despite the alcohol. 

“I don’t know.”

“Dean, look,” Sam sits on the edge of the bed closest to Dean’s chair, their knees almost touching. “It’s done. I’m here, okay? So stop being pissed off.” It’s not what he wants to say. What he wants to say is _I’m so sorry_ and _I dreamed about you every night._

“Right,” Dean huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Stop being pissed off about you being fucking relieved that I was gone.”

Sam swallows hard. “That’s not how it was.” His voice is small, like a little boy’s.

Dean doesn’t answer, just puts the bottle down and gets up, closing the bathroom door behind him like it’s a permanent lock.

That night, Sam dreams about Texas. But he doesn’t dream about the house he shared with Amelia. He dreams about a cabin on a lake, one that was small and hidden and all his for one summer when he was sixteen. All his and Dean’s. 

********

Thirteen years ago in his dream, Sam can’t stop thinking about that moment in the kitchen. It was a week and a half ago, and he can still feel Dean’s presence at his back, so close that he could just shift his weight and sink into that solid chest, give in to all the dirty wrong feelings. Dean’s been almost nice to him, letting him pick what they eat for dinner, not getting mad when Sam changes the radio. It’s like Dean’s trying to tell Sam that it isn’t so bad here at this cabin, that Dean understands and wants to make the next few weeks bearable. 

They walk into town together one day, canvas bags in hand to carry home their load of groceries. The store is small and empty except for the cashier, a girl who looks to be around Sam’s age. She’s pretty, long brown hair and pink lips, which are currently forming an ‘o’ shape to blow a bubble with the gum she’s chewing, and she’s staring at Sam. Sam isn’t used to being stared at, not with Dean around, but he’s noticed it happening more now that he’s as tall as his big brother.

“Hey,” she smiles, clearly happy to have some entertainment in her day, eyes raking up and down Sam’s long frame like she’s hungry. 

“Hey,” Sam mumbles, eyes lowered, unable to give her what she wants. He doesn’t know how to be charming. Or at least, he doesn’t want to be right now. 

“She digs you,” Dean tells him quietly once they’ve turned down an aisle. “Bet you could totally get in those panties, Sammy.”

“You think?” he asks, embarrassed that Dean has noticed.

“You want me to get out of here so you can go talk to her?”

Sam looks back at the girl with as much interest as he can muster, but it isn’t enough. “Nah. I’m hungry. Let’s just get dinner and go back to the cabin.”

Dean snorts with laughter. “You’ll get there someday, Sammy.”

Sam isn’t sure whether to be offended or not, but Dean just called him Sammy twice, so he leaves the grocery store smiling. 

“Hey Dean?” They are lying outside in the grass. Their stomachs are full for once, the night is clear even if it’s too hot, and the stars are twinkling down like it’s just for them. They haven’t spoken in almost an hour, and Sam’s quiet voice sounds timid, like he doesn’t want to disturb the perfection of the evening.

“Yeah?”  
“Did you think that girl was pretty? The one at the store today?”

Dean pauses like he’s really thinking about it. “Sure,” he finally says. “But.”

“But what?”

“Not pretty enough for a Winchester.”

Sam’s heart starts beating loud enough that he thinks Dean might hear it, because he heard what Dean didn’t say. _Not pretty enough for you_.

After another long silence, Dean talks again. “You ever been with a girl?”

Sam snorts. “When would I have been with a girl? I’m stuck in the backseat of the Impala all the time.”

“There was that one girl last year. What was her name? Kelsey?”

“Kasey.” Sam hasn’t thought about Kasey since they left whatever school that was in whatever city they were never really part of. 

“Yeah. What about her?”

“We were just friends.”

Sam knows Dean can hear the lie in his voice. “Really?” he asks, and Sam can see Dean’s questioning arched eyebrow without looking. 

“We made out a few times.”

“I knew it. She was nice. Bet she was a little wild, too, wasn’t she?”

“I guess.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “C’mon, Sammy, tell me about her. Let me live vicariously.”

Dean has enough of his own experience, Sam knows, but he likes the attention, so he keeps talking. “She did this thing with her tongue, kind of rolled it a little.”

“Doesn’t sound too wild to me.”

“She would roll it while she was sitting in my lap. She’d roll her hips the same way.” Sam’s face is burning, but he tries to keep his voice even, sexy. 

“Shit,” Dean said. 

Sam’s suddenly aware that they’ve moved closer as they stare at the sky. Dean’s arm is brushing against his, and Sam can smell the beer on his breath when he talks. 

They’re on the edge of something. It hits Sam hard, knocks the breath out of him when he realizes this conversation has lined them up on a cliff. Sam knows what he wants, even if it’s totally fucked up. He’s shaking with the idea that Dean might be fucked up too. Dean might jump.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice is a low scrape of gravel right at Sam’s ear, warm like whiskey. 

Sam makes a nervous sound that could be a “what?”

“Show me the tongue thing?”

********

Sam wakes up from the memory with a jolt. He’s sitting up in bed, dick hard and aching, certain he just woke Dean up with his sudden movement, hoping that there weren’t any embarrassing noises to go along with it. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice is struggling, trying to get to the hunter’s level of alertness faster than his body will allow.

“Nothing. Just a dream.” Sam’s voice is struggling too, struggling to hide all the emotion that one memory has brought to the surface. Like it never left. 

Truthfully, it hasn’t.

Dean drops back down with a grunt, body falling heavily into the mattress . “Clowns or midgets?” he asks, muffled from a hand dragging over his face. Sam can’t see it in the dark, but he knows exactly what it looks like when Dean rubs at his jaw, pushes two fingers over his bottom lip as he recovers from the unexpected adrenaline rush.

“What?”

“In your nightmare. Clowns or midgets.”

Sam pushes his hair back with both hands and lowers himself back to the mattress, rolling to his side, back facing Dean’s bed. “It was nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Dean says nothing, trusting that Sam is grown up enough to handle a bad dream. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, waits for his blood to stop boiling, waits for the shaking in his fingers to stop. 

Minutes pass, but Sam knows Dean is still awake. “The dream was about Texas.” He’s not sure why he says it. He’s not really ready to have this conversation, not sure Dean isn’t going to explode if he tries.

Dean’s silence is loud. Sam can feel the accusations floating across the room, all the anger and hurt and _how could you_ that Dean’s holding back. 

“It was about that summer in Texas. When we had that cabin?” It feels safe to talk in the darkness. The middle of the night dreaminess makes it feel surreal, like nothing Sam says right now has consequences, like maybe he’s still asleep and he can do anything he wants in his dreams. “It wasn’t a nightmare.”

If Dean has anything to say about that, he keeps it to himself. Sam blinks away the sudden moisture at his eyes, listens to each of Dean’s breaths, counts them like he counted his own while Dean was gone. Then, he had been counting how many breaths Dean had missed. Now he’s counting how many of Dean’s breaths he’s wasting, afraid to say and do anything, with Dean right there next to him. 

When Dean moves, Sam feels the moment break, feels the walls go back up. Dean will go to the bathroom, he knows, click the lock so loudly that the sound will probably echo through all the darkness he left behind in Purgatory.

When the bed dips, Sam almost reaches for his gun on the nightstand. He knows it’s Dean, not some monster, but it can’t be. That can’t be _Dean_ sliding in under the sheet, can’t be _Dean’s_ warmth suddenly at his back, can’t be _Dean’s_ breath on the back of his neck. 

But it is.

Sam holds his breath, freezes every one of his muscles to make sure they don’t make a mistake and send Dean back to his own bed. 

“I remember that summer.” Dean’s words wash over Sam like holy water, like soothing balm on every raw nerve inside. 

They don’t touch, knowing they aren’t there yet, aren’t nearly back to the slightly less fucked up versions of themselves they’d been before. But Dean stays there all night, sharing the same space, edging the blanket over to his side until Sam is almost shivering. Dean always was a cover hog. Sam’s face-splitting smile shines into the dark motel room, unnoticed. 

Nothing has changed as they get dressed the next morning, but it feels different. The silence feels like they simply have nothing to say, rather than like they are holding back words that might hurt. It’s so good, this new truce, this new _nothing_ , that Sam aches with it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

But Dean does. So Sam waits until they’re in the car, speeding down the highway to nowhere, to another nameless motel, before he ruins it.

“That’s why I went to Texas.”

Dean reaches to turn the radio down a little. “What?”

“That summer we had? That’s why I went Texas last year.”

Dean doesn’t respond. His eyes stay glued to the road, and Sam takes it as a good sign that he hasn’t told him to shut the fuck up.

“I wasn’t looking for Amelia when I went there. I was looking for you.”

Sam’s thrown forward as Dean slams on the brakes and veers off the road. The tires are barely done screeching before Dean is slamming the door open, bounding out of the car in a rage. Sam follows warily.

“I wasn’t in fucking Texas!” Dean shouts, hurling the words into the air. “I was lost in Purgatory, alone, with monsters on my ass every damn minute of every day and night. And do you know what I wanted? The only thing I ever thought about?”

Sam meets him at the front of the Impala, dust still flying around them, Dean almost ramming him in the chest as he gets in Sam’s face. “What, Dean?” Sam says quietly.

“The only fucking thing I ever thought about was how worried you must be. The only thing I wanted was for you to not do something fucking stupid trying to get me back. And I guess I got my wish.”

Sam reacts before he thinks about it, like he’s done since the very first time Dean made him feel like just his stupid kid brother. “That was the promise we made, Dean! I thought it’s what you’d want me to do! To move on, to-”

“To abandon everything and everyone you’ve ever known? Tell me, Sam, was she worth it?”

It’s a cheap shot, and they both know it, but it takes all the fight out of Sam. Dean grabs Sam’s jacket, hauls him in close, growls the words as he keeps talking. “Did she give you the life you never had? The perfect one you were missing out on?”

Beneath the anger, Sam can hear the hurt. And once more, he’s lost in a memory.

********

It’s five years ago.

Sam’s pushing Dean back toward the car, hands shoving hard at his chest. “Was it worth it, Dean? Did making that deal fix everything?” 

Dean’s not even fighting back. He’s just looking at Sam, eyes wet and pleading. “I couldn’t let you die, Sammy. I just couldn’t.”

“And now I have to watch you die? Now I have to live the rest of my life knowing that you’re burning in Hell?” Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and shakes him hard enough that Dean’s teeth actually rattle with it. “Tell me how I’m supposed to do that!” 

Their hips push together as Dean hits the car. Sam keeps trying to push them back, until their whole bodies are touching, until Dean is leaning back with Sam towering over him threateningly, angrily.

And Dean just reaches up and pulls Sam’s face down to kiss him. Their lips brush once, twice, then settle together purposefully, like that’s where they are going to stay. Sam pushes his anger into that kiss, tries to show Dean how unacceptable this is, because how can he just leave? How can they not be right here, together, where they can kiss like this? Sam’s tongue slides in Dean’s mouth where it belongs, rubs against Dean’s possessively in time with their grinding hips. It’s been too long since they’ve done this.

“Sammy,” Dean murmurs apologetically, fingers threading through Sam’s hair.

Sam drops to his knees then, pulling at Dean’s jeans until his cock is free and Sam can kiss that too, can show Dean just how much he needs him. Dean just spreads his legs a little and slams his hands down on the hood of the Impala, bracing himself, as Sam sucks and licks, as Sam makes him come.

Sam’s almost crying as Dean pulses hot and thick down his throat, wondering if this will be the last time he ever gets to do this. 

Afterward, Sam stands back up and pulls Dean into his arms, clutching at him hard and burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I just.”

“I know.” Dean answers, voice shaky. 

They stand together for a long time, arms wrapped around each other, bodies so close that the fading sunlight can’t get between them.

********

“Was she worth it? Say something!” Dean’s chest bumps Sam as he shouts, and Sam is dragged back to the present, violently pulled right back into the moment by the weight of his brother’s body on his.

Dean’s face is too close. Sam can smell his breath, can see the lines at the corners of his eyes, can count every precious freckle. 

It’s been so long since he’s been this close to Dean.

He leans forward, smashes his lips to Dean’s like a dying man who’s found water. 

It’s not the right time to do this. Sam hasn’t let himself think about kissing Dean since he’s been back, knowing that fantasies and memories would only make it harder. But if he had thought about it, if he had let himself plan it out in his head, it wouldn’t have been on the side of the road, with Dean angry and hurt, and Sam desperate and out of strength to hold back. 

But here they are.

And Dean is still the most powerful thing Sam’s ever felt. It’s achingly familiar, a long lost comfort that Sam climbs back into like he never left. It doesn’t matter that Dean isn’t kissing him back, doesn’t matter that he still has Sam in an angry grip. Sam just wants to stay right here forever, lips on top of Dean’s. His hands slide up to settle in Dean’s hair like they never left, like they’ve just been waiting this whole time to fit right back into this exact spot, and he hums happily against Dean’s mouth, a sound so full of emotion it almost sounds broken.

That’s when Dean reacts. It’s a small movement, but Sam definitely feels Dean’s lips pout a little, reaching to push against Sam’s, to kiss him back. It’s hesitant, but it’s there. Sam holds on, kisses Dean again, and this time, Dean tilts his head to part his lips, giving Sam permission to slip his tongue between them, into Dean’s mouth.

Sam’s knees buckle, and he’s sagging against Dean now, the anger in Dean’s clutching hands the only thing keeping him upright. Over a year. It’s been over a year since he’s had this, over a year of thinking he’d never have this again, and it’s too much. 

He can’t stop himself from pushing more, from backing Dean up against the car, from licking every missed moment out of Dean’s mouth, from pushing all his aching love down into Dean’s skin with his hands. 

“Sam.” And suddenly Dean’s pushing at him instead of pulling, putting space between them as he pulls away. “Don’t. I. I can’t.”

Sam stares into those green eyes, glittering in the sun, and waits for whatever Dean’s going to say or do.

Dean turns and gets back in the car, mood unreadable, but Sam knows that his reaction could be a lot worse than silence, so he’ll take it. He stands in front of the car for a moment, catching his breath and trying to decide what to say when he gets back in the car. 

When his heartbeat has slowed some, when his lips feel mostly normal again instead of swollen and tingly, he climbs back into his spot beside Dean. The leather fits his body perfectly, still holds the shape of him in it’s indentations. At least someone knows he still belongs here with Dean.

Dean’s pulling back out onto the highway when Sam speaks again. He clears his throat first, making sure the words come out solid and strong. Like he means them.

“No, Dean. She wasn’t worth it.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but Sam watches some of the tension ease out of his shoulders, notices his grip on the steering wheel lessen. Dean sucks in a deep breath and his whole body kind of sinks into the seat a little more.

Sam has to bite back his smile.

When they pull into a motel for the night, Dean doesn’t shut off the car. 

“Get us a room. I’m gonna go grab a drink somewhere.”

Sam’s stomach sinks, fear pulsing through his veins. It feels like they are right on the verge of something, but they won’t be if Dean leaves, if he finds some pretty woman to take his mind off of this almost reconciliation. 

“You should look for a case. I won’t be out long.” Dean looks at Sam, edges of his lips quivering like they want to smile.

Sam breathes again, relief flooding through him. Dean’s coming back tonight. Dean wants them to find a case to work. Together. 

Dean just needs a minute. And Sam can give him that.

Sam nods and grabs his stuff from the backseat, trying not to show how fragile he is right now, how much he is clinging to taste of Dean that’s still on his lips. “See ya,” he says.

And then Dean’s gone.

Four hours later, Sam is tired and worried. Dean should have been back by now. Sam knows he’s okay, because he doesn’t have that sick feeling in his gut that he always seems to get when Dean is in real danger. Dean’s just out. With people who aren’t Sam. 

Sam waits up for a while, but then the images start running through his brain, images of Dean and some hot brunette in the backseat of the Impala, images of the way Dean’s hips snap and his ass flexes as he pounds into a girl, images of her face as she screams his name. Sam wonders if he’s ever made that same face before, if Dean noticed, if Dean thought his facial expressions were better. 

With a sigh, Sam strips down to his underwear and falls into bed, determined to sleep the images away.

Instead, he remembers the last time he saw Dean with a girl.

********

Sevenyears ago.

Dean’s slamming into her, every thrust punching a loud huff of pleasure out of her mouth, a primal rhythmic grunting that Dean can always drag out of a girl. Sam knows how to make girls scream, too, but tonight, his eyes are only on Dean.

This particular girl doesn’t know who they are, doesn’t know they are brothers, doesn’t know what kind of fucked up situation she’s gone to a motel with. But she’s here, and she’s soft and warm, and she’s looking at both of them like she wants to eat them alive. Like she wants to watch them eat each other alive. 

At the moment, Sam can’t look away from Dean’s ass. It’s tight and rounded, clenching with every snap of his hips, begging for Sam to touch it, to run his hands over the curve of each cheek. Dean doesn’t resist when Sam does just that. In fact, he even arches his back and pushes back into Sam’s hands a little before his next thrust. 

That’s all the permission Sam needs.

He drops down on the bed between Dean’s spread legs, between Dean’s knees where he’s got them planted in the mattress for leverage. Sam licks his lips once before letting himself lean forward, kiss over the muscles he’s been admiring. Dean groans louder when Sam’s tongue slides deeper, finds Dean’s hole. Sam doesn’t try to find Dean’s rhythm. He simply holds his tongue still, pointed and ready, and lets Dean fuck himself on it. Forward into the girl, backward onto Sam’s tongue, over and over and over, until Dean is dripping wet, soft and open and ready, practically mewling.

Sam grins as he stands up, slowly jerking his own hard cock as he finds the lube. He can’t wait to sink into Dean, to watch this girl watch them, to fuck Dean in full view of someone else and not care…

********

The motel door opens before Sam can finish the memory. He already has his back to the door, lights off, so he closes his eyes and feigns sleep. Dean won’t be fooled, of course, but they have always followed the rule of “don’t bother me when I’m pretending to sleep”. And Sam isn’t sure he’s capable of talking to him right now.

Tonight, however, Dean’s apparently set on breaking their rule. Sam hears heavy boots being kicked off, clothes hitting the floor, and then there’s a rush of cool air on his back as Dean pulls back the covers, just gets in bed with him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Sam turns his head. “Dean? What are you-”

“Sammy,” Dean whispers. He reaches a hand out to curl around Sam’s waist, pulls Sam’s long body until Sam is forced to roll over to face him. Dean keeps his hand on Sam, slides it up Sam’s back until they are practically hugging, bare chests touching. Sam can’t help but rest his forehead against Dean’s, can’t stop the way his whole body yearns for Dean’s.

“I’m right here,” Sam murmurs, not caring if this is stupid, if this will only make things worse in the morning. 

There’s whiskey on Dean’s breath, a heaviness to his movements, and Sam knows he’s drunk. Their noses slide together as Dean speaks again. “But you didn’t stay here. You found her and you left.”

Dean’s not angry now, and that’s worse. He’s just small and sad, rejected and alone, crying out for Sam, who wasn’t there when he should have been. Sam has never felt so heartbroken. “Dean, I couldn’t handle it.” He knows his explanation won’t be enough, but he has to try. “I didn’t know where to start looking for you. I thought you were dead. And I couldn’t think about it. I _couldn’t_. My brain just turned off, and then I woke up and was moving into a house with her.”

Dean pulls at Sam’s hair desperately, legs tangling together beneath the covers, like he’s trying to wrap himself around Sam so he can’t leave again. 

“She just...it was easy. And normal. And I didn’t have to think or feel. I could just go through the motions and survive the day. Like you with Benny.”

Sam regrets the words as soon as they are out of his mouth, but he can’t deny the truth of them. Dean isn’t the only one who feels slighted here. 

“S’different,” Dean argues, pulling back a little. “Benny and I were _fighting_ together.”

“And when you got back? And you didn’t need him to help you anymore? Why were you still...” Sam can’t hide the hurt in his voice, despite the fact that it’s only going to make this worse.

Dean sighs and rolls away, letting go of Sam to stare up at the ceiling. “Because it ain’t that simple. And you know it.”

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t simple for me either.”

Dean doesn’t get out of the bed, but he doesn’t touch Sam again. Eventually, the still silence puts Sam to sleep. 

Things are better in the morning. Sam doesn’t know why, but they are. Maybe they finally got everything off their chests. Maybe they were both just tired of the cold distance between them. Maybe there was some healing in simply saying things out loud.

Sam doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is Dean’s looking him in the eye when he talks, that he’s saying more than the bare minimum, and that it feels like them again. A careful, cautious version of them, sure. But Sam will take it.

It lasts the rest of the week. Things are shifting, starting to feel somewhat normal again. Dean’s losing his shaky alertness, Purgatory is finally slipping out of him like smoke, leaving behind someone who can actually relax when he’s in a locked, warded, salted motel room. Sam is able to have full conversations without holding his tongue, without feeling guilty for the things he says and he things he holds back.

Dean’s in the shower when Sam gets up the nerve to take another step. The bathroom door is only partially closed, and Sam can hear Dean humming tunelessly. He tries not to imagine the water running over Dean’s creamy skin as he pushes it open fully and lets himself in.

“Sam?” Dean calls.

“Just brushing my teeth,” Sam responds, but he makes no move to take the toothbrush out of his small toiletry bag. “Hey, Dean?”

Dean grunts a reply, and Sam can hear the click of a shampoo bottle. 

With a deep breath, Sam says what he came in here to say. “Do you remember the last time we came through this area?” Sam doesn’t want to be the only one lost in memories anymore.

Dean takes a minute to answer, and Sam wonders if it’s because he’s trying to remember, or because it’s already right there in his mind. “Yeah,” he finally answers, voice wistful. “Six years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Sometime around there, yeah.”

“We were drinking that cheap shit that Bobby gave us. He probably made it in his basement. Tasted like gasoline.”

“It did the job,” Sam smiles. 

There’s a heat in Dean’s voice when he answers, and Sam lets it seep down into his skin, warming him up for the first time since Dean disappeared. “It definitely did.”

A silence falls over them as they both remember this time.

********

It’s six years ago.

“C’mere.”

Sam makes a face. “The floor is dirty, Dean. Dunno why you’re sitting down there anyway.”

“‘Cause I’m drunk,” Dean laughs. “And this is where my ass landed.”

“Well, my ass is in this chair. And that’s where it’s staying.”

“What if I promised to fuck that ass later, Sammy? Would that get you to come down here?”

It feels like the air temperature just rose ten degrees, and Sam feels the flush creeping over his cheeks as he looks at Dean through messy strands of hair that won’t stay out of his eyes. “Why don’t you fuck my ass right now?”

“Because you’re like a million miles away up there.” Dean leans back against the bed from his spot on the floor and actually bats his eyelashes at Sam. 

“You’re like a drunk teenage girl,” Sam teases, rolling his eyes as he slides down to the floor, always giving Dean whatever he wants.

Dean grabs his arm and yanks, makes Sam fall forward so that he’s lying with his head in Dean’s lap. Dean hold the bottle to his lips and lets Sam take a drink of the gross alcohol. It burns down Sam’s throat, but Sam welcomes the nice buzz it will leave in his veins. 

“A drunk teenage girl,” Dean repeats. His fingers twirl around in Sam’s hair. “I could be that. You gonna let me braid your hair, Sammy?” He sets the bottle down and uses his free hand to palm at Sam’s dick through his jeans. “Gonna let me play with these luscious locks all night?”

“Let you do whatever you want, Dean,” Sam breathes, hips circling against Dean’s hand, arching into the touch. “Long as you keep doing that.”

They fuck right there on the floor, drunk and lazy, all long kisses and actual giggles. Dean is almost never this open, this sweet and flirty, like they’re a normal couple who get to do normal things. Usually, they fuck the same way they hunt, desperate and passionate, out of necessity, for survival. They need each other like they need to make it through a hunt, like it’s the only thing that matters in that moment. 

But this, this ease and fun...it’s rare. 

Sam falls asleep satisfied and happy, on the dirty floor of a shitty motel, with Dean’s heartbeat pounding steadily in his ear.  He’s certain that no one has ever been as in love as he is right now.

********

Sam pulls himself out of the memory when Dean shuts off the shower. He leaves the bathroom before Dean either asks him to, or awkwardly tries to grab a towel without being naked in front of Sam. Like Sam doesn’t have every cell of him memorized. 

Despite the weirdness of the last few seconds, Sam is still soaring as he floats down to a bed, flying because he’s high on Dean, on his words, on the longing in his voice as he remembered how things used to be. Every bit of him is vibrating, reeling with the relief of it, of knowing that Dean still remembers.

“I missed you.” 

The words hit Sam hard, shove him back down to the bed where his body is waiting. He opens his eyes to find Dean right there, next to the bed, still dripping from the shower, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and sliding down to cling to his hips. 

“What?” Sam asks, sure that he misunderstood.

Dean’s gaze slowly moves from the carpet to Sam’s face, his eyes focusing on Sam’s, looking so much like a small boy again that Sam wants to hug him. “I missed you,” he says again. 

Three simple words.

The most important, impossibly wonderful words Dean could have said.

Sam has never moved so fast in his life. He slams himself up and into Dean’s bare, wet chest, wraps his arms around his neck, pulls Dean with him as he falls back to the bed.

“I missed you too,” he sobs, not caring that his cheeks are wet with tears, not even trying to pretend it’s water from Dean’s shower-soaked skin. “God, I missed you so much, Dean.” He’s kissing Dean’s face as he talks, brushing his lips over Dean’s cheeks, his lips, his nose, his eyes, his forehead, pressing kisses into every inch of that perfect, perfect face.

And Dean lets him. He pushes up on his arms to hover over Sam, and lets Sam kiss him over and over as he babbles, eyes closed like he needs this, needs these kisses and these words. Sam holds Dean’s shoulders, digs his fingers in so Dean can’t move, so Sam can do this for as long as he wants.

“Never talked about it, because I was afraid it would kill me. But Dean, _I missed you too.”_

Sam spreads his legs so Dean can get between them, can shove his hips between Sam’s thighs where they are supposed to be. Sam’s jeans and Dean’s towel are still in the way, but Sam doesn’t care, because Dean is here and he’s kissing Sam back now, and he’s resting his forehead on Sam’s, and breathing the same air, and Sam is coming apart from the inside, breaking down every wall he’s built over the last year so that Dean can get back inside of him. 

“Please,” Sam begs, pulling at Dean’s towel. “I need you.”

Dean nods, lets Sam pull his towel away and toss it to the floor, then rolls away so Sam can get his clothes off, too. 

And by some miracle, Dean is still there when Sam is finally naked.

Dean reaches out to touch Sam’s face, to catch a couple tears on his finger before leaning forward and kissing them away, his tongue gently fluttering out to taste them. Sam lets Dean replace his tears with droplets from his wet hair, runs his hands over Dean’s back, feeling every dip and ridge of those broad shoulders. 

His cock is aching, and he can feel Dean’s against his side, just as hard, but that can wait. Right now, Sam just wants to kiss, to touch, to claim Dean’s biceps, his fingers, his hair, his thighs, for his own again. 

“I missed you,” Sam says again, happy that he’s allowed to say it now, that they’ve broken through the dam to let everything come flooding out. 

Sliding out from underneath Dean, he pushes him down into the mattress and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I missed these shoulders.” He runs his tongue over the pattern of freckles that showed up after the worst sunburn of Dean’s life when they were eleven and fifteen. “I missed the way the muscles dip down to your spine.” His tongue trails down Dean’s spine, stopping just above his ass. He smiles when Dean sighs and arches, when his fingers dig into the mattress on either side of his head. “I missed your stupid bowlegs and these thick thighs.” Braver now, he leans down and sinks his teeth into the meat of one of Dean’s thighs, groans when Dean cries out.

“Fuck, Sammy…”

“And I especially missed this ass,” Sam continues, totally caught up in the physical pleasure now, in touching and kissing everything he’s been denied for so long. His hands smack at Dean’s ass and dig in, hard enough to leave a red mark of his fingers, before he pulls Dean’s cheeks apart.

Dean’s already pulling his legs up, getting his knees underneath him to push up and offer himself to Sam.

Sam’s already leaning down, tongue peeking out between his lips as he buries himself in Dean.

A muffled moan is all Sam can manage, because this is just too fucking perfect. Dean tastes just like Sam remembers. He flattens his tongue and licks over Dean’s hole once, then twice, grinning at how Dean hisses through his teeth, then moans after that, like he’s decided it’s okay to make noise tonight. 

When Dean’s wet with Sam’s spit, when his knees have given out and he’s back to lying flat on this stomach with Sam between his legs, Sam points his tongue and dives in with purpose, pushing in until he feels the soft, warm silk of Dean’s insides.He fucks Dean with his tongue like it’s an apology, like if he can just give Dean enough pleasure, if he can just make Dean feel good enough tonight, everything will be good again. It’s a false hope, but that’s okay. Dean is still here, very real under Sam’s hands and mouth, and that’s enough.

“Shit Sam, just like that.” Dean reaches back with his arms to pull himself even more open for Sam, to give him even more room to work, and Sam grinds his hips into the bed, his dick needing some kind of friction as he watches Dean writhe beneath him. 

Sam fucks Dean with his tongue for as long as he can stand before he absolutely has to have more, has to feel more. Dean flips over to face him as he slides back up the bed, pulling him by the hair until their mouths meet, and Dean is licking the taste of himself out of Sam’s mouth. 

“You missed my sweet ass, Sammy?”

Sam smiles, because it is so very Dean to say something like that, something dirty and sexy, when everything is so much bigger than that, when the emotions are right there on their wet faces. “Did my tongue all over it not convince you? You need me to say it again?”

Dean’s hands slide down to settle into the small of Sam’s back, and he pulls and pushed until he has Sam right where he wants him, straddling his hips, their hard cocks pressed against each other.  “Yeah, Sam. Say it again.”

Sam smiles, fresh tears in his eyes. “I missed you.”

The vulnerable look in Dean’s eyes flashes bright, and he doesn’t try to hide it as he reaches up to brush hair out of Sam’s face. “Your hair is too fuckin’ long. Always was, but this?” He tugs hard. “This is outta control.”

“I’m sure you could find something worthwhile about it,” Sam smirks. “If you really want to.”

Dean grabs a fistful and pulls sharply as Sam thrusts his hips, sliding his dick against Dean’s. They both groan. Dean does it again, and they start a deep grind against each other, Dean’s hand buried in Sam’s hair, tugging and pulling the whole time. 

It’s familiar and new at the same time. Sam knows how fast and hard Dean likes it, and Dean knows that Sam falls apart when he sucks on his bottom lip. But there’s something more there now. There’s a year between them, new scars and muscles, movements that surprise the other because it’s been so long.

It’s heaven.

“You know what I missed?” Dean asks, voice almost a growl.

“Tell me,” Sam gasps, his large hand reaching down to rub over both of their cocks. 

“I missed this mole.” Dean leans up to kiss the mole on Sam’s face, right next to his nose.

“What else?” Sam can’t help but ask the question, needs to know.

But naturally, Dean isn’t full of sweet, poetic words or large gestures. He simply tightens his hold on Sam and says “I missed everything.”

That’s better than anything Sam could ever come up with.

Dean rolls then to put himself back on top, with Sam’s legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed over the small of Dean’s back, tightening his grip when Dean tries to slide down Sam’s body. 

“Gotta let go of me, Sammy.”

“Never.”

They both feel the shiver that goes through Dean at that word, and Sam can see how it hurts him, how it bruises and heals at the same time, how long Dean’s needed to hear those words and how long he went without them. 

Dean wriggles his way down Sam’s body anyway, kissing his way down until Sam’s legs are simply draped over his shoulders. With a rough, calloused hand, Dean carefully wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock, like he’s afraid he’s going to go to hard, like maybe he forgot how to be gentle, how to give pleasure.

“Please, Dean,” Sam coaxes. “Please.”

Dean squeezes, then strokes, and Sam opens his eyes wider, wants to see everything. He watches as Dean leans forward, full lips so pink and perfect as they kiss he head of his cock. It’s an electric shock through Sam, a thrumming he can feel all the way to his fingers and toes. He keeps watching as Dean’s lips part, as his mouth forms an “o” and he sinks down onto Sam, his eyes fluttering closed like he’s doing this for himself as much as for Sam. 

Sam can’t hear Dean’s low growl, but he sure as hell feels it as Dean starts moving, starts sucking hard while he bobs his head up and down, one hand gently tugging at his balls. The vibrations heighten every touch, every twist of Dean’s tongue, and Sam can’t help but push up, snap his hips and fuck Dean’s mouth as hard as Dean’s mouth is fucking him. 

Oh, Jesus Christ, he missed this. He missed the way Dean always took him in deeper than anyone else ever had, he missed Dean’s hands and how they always seemed to touch everywhere, he missed how strung out Dean always looked when he blinked up at him through his dark eyelashes. 

Sam writhes beneath him, clutches as his shoulders, the bedsheets, anything within reach. He cries out Dean’s names, begs for more and for right there and to please never ever stop. Dean stays between his legs, tongue working as he sucks Sam’s cock, for what feels like hours, like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s going to fit a year’s worth of blow jobs into this one night.

Sam is happy to let him.

Dean stretches his hand up to Sam’s mouth, mumbles “suck” with his lips still wrapped around Sam’s cock. They have no lube, so Sam sucks Dean’s fingers messily, until they are absolutely dripping, then drops his head back to the pillow and forces himself to relax.

Dean’s fingers are warm and wet when they press against Sam’s hole, but he doesn’t push inside. He drags himself back up to kiss Sam hungrily, fingers still just teasing as Sam whimpers. “Look at me,” he commands, voice hard and greedy now.

Sam opens his eyes to find Dean’s, fierce and burning, staring back at him. “This?” He wriggles his fingers, still against Sam’s hole. “This belongs to me. Dead or alive. This is mine.”

Sam nods, hands running over the muscles of Dean’s stomach.

“No one else’s,” Dean says, the hardness in his voice breaking just long enough for Sam to hear what he really means. Not hers. 

“Always been yours, Dean,” Sam reminds him. And he means it.

Dean nods, then slides two fingers inside Sam slowly, letting Sam adjust, letting Sam feel all of his fingers as they push their way back to where they both really want them. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Sam pleads, angling his hips to take Dean’s fingers in even deeper.

Dean smirks, presses his mouth to Sam’s pulse, and fucks Sam with his fingers, stretching and opening Sam up, getting him ready. 

It’s been so long since Sam has been full like this, so long since he’s heard Dean’s labored breaths next to his ear, that he almost comes untouched just then, has to reach down and squeeze the base of his own cock to stop it.

“Not yet, baby boy,” Dean grunts. “You’re gonna come on my cock. Just on my cock.”

“Then get inside me,” Sam cries. “Fucking do it already.”

Dean pulls his fingers away, leaving Sam empty and sweating and shaking on the bed. He spits in his hand, slicks himself up, spits again to make sure it’s enough, then lines himself up, Sam staring up from beneath him. 

Sam suddenly wishes he could freeze time, could save this moment. Dean’s cheeks are flushed and his mouth is open, his hair is messed up, drying in disheveled tufts, and he’s breathing heavily. He’s perfection. And he’s Sam’s again. 

Dean closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he pushes in, lets his head drop to Sam’s shoulder and groans loudly, from his gut. Sam grabs Dean’s ass and pushes, his whole body going limp when Dean bottoms out, when he’s buried in Sam as deep as he can go. Dean’s cock is throbbing inside of Sam, burning him from the inside out, and Sam’s almost crying again with the sheer intensity of it, with the relief of it.

Sam’s stays relaxed as Dean moves, as he thrusts experimentally, slowly, before digging his feet into the bed and slamming in hard.

“Yes,” Sam howls, body not pushing back at all. He’s all Dean’s, pliant and lax and ready for whatever Dean gives him.

Dean bites down on his shoulder and pounds into him hard, hips slapping, bed squeaking, and there’s no way they aren’t waking everyone else in the building. Sam doesn’t care. He just lies back and drifts, lets his body be pushed up to the headboard until his head is knocking against it, and even that’s a good pain because it’s Dean that’s causing it.  

“Mine,” Dean grunts, and Sam doubts he’s even aware he said it, but Sam is. Sam holds on tighter, clenches himself around Dean, starts to rock his hips too, until Dean slows down and matches his rhythm.

They kiss then, moving slower, sweeter, just to feel each other. It’s hot and sweaty, breathing the same air, fingers twisting together and noses rubbing. Sam can feel the pressure building inside him, can feel his cock twitch and jump where it’s trapped between their stomachs. 

“Touch me,” he whispers, but Dean shakes his head. 

“You’re coming on my cock. Just my cock,” Dean tells him. “Like you used to.”

Sam has memories of this, of riding Dean, of being on his hands and knees while Dean fucks him from behind, and Dean not touching him, making him come completely from his cock alone. It had almost felt like a game they played. And Sam came every damn time.

“Then fuck me harder, Dean,” he challenges. “Make me come on your cock.”

Dean grins, part sex god and part amused older brother, and adjusts the angle of his hips. This time, when he fucks into Sam, Sam sees stars. Dean hits that sweet spot inside of him over and over, with deadly accuracy, until Sam can’t hold on anymore, until all he can do is lie back and take it, screaming Dean’s name.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Good enough to come?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam gasps.

“Then do it. Come for me, Sammy.”

On cue, Sam comes, the orgasm ripping through him, exploding in hot pulses that cover his stomach. He twitches and groans as the orgasm stretches on, as his muscles go rigid, then relax, as he stares into green eyes the whole damn time.

Dean thrusts a few more times, then he’s coming too, filling Sam up, falling down onto Sam’s body with a loud moan, not caring about the mess between them. Dean sucks at Sam’s earlobe as he keeps shuddering through his aftershocks, and they cling to one another hard, like they want to melt together until they aren’t separate anymore.

Eventually, Dean eases himself out of Sam and gets up to get a warm, wet washcloth to clean themselves.

“Thanks,” Sam says, wiping off his stomach, very aware of the importance of this moment. This is when they will screw it up. He just knows it. 

Sam tosses the washcloth in the general vicinity of the bathroom to be dealt with in the morning, then turns his attention to Dean, who is still gloriously naked, standing next to the bed and looking down at him. 

“Dean…” he begins. But that’s where he stops, because what can he really say? 

Dean makes a face that tells Sam he doesn’t really want to talk anyway. He shakes his head and motions for Sam to scoot over and make room. 

Sam does, and Dean curls up against him, head on the same pillow, lips close enough that Sam thinks they might actually be touching. 

“Night, Sammy.”

“Night, Dean.”

It doesn’t fix things. They’re still broken. But Sam knows now that they are going to try repair it. And that’s enough to make Sam breathe deep for the first time in over a year.

Sam doesn’t get lost in a memory tonight. He stays right where he is.

Next to Dean.


End file.
